


Sleeping Beauty

by 0atMi1k



Category: Geraskier - Fandom, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier Whump Week (The Witcher), Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Pining, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:35:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28025565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0atMi1k/pseuds/0atMi1k
Summary: Years may come and years may go. This is not the eternal love either of them were looking for.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Kudos: 49





	Sleeping Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> In this chapter, Jaskier finds himself trying work out what kinda bullshit he's gotten himself into this time. More chapters to come.

Jaskier bolted upright, or at least his face did. That was all he was for a while. That was all of him he could feel. Specifically, his mouth. There was something in it. Something earthy. Something so big, his mouth wouldn't close. What was it? Why couldn't he see it? Why couldn't he see anything? As his eyes started to warm up from numbing cold, he realised they were squeezed shut, a single tear rolling down his cheek from the gagging, unable to close his mouth, retching against the immovable object. He writhed around, the feeling returning to his hands, which were digging into the mud and grass either side of him as he spluttered, bumping occasionally into something hard. Were it not for the writhing and spluttering, it was very quiet around him, muffled even. He was alone. Oh Melitele, he was alone. 

He just about managed unscrunch his eyes for a second to look around, the damp earthy smells violently plunging itself into his nostrils, the cold air turning to lead in his chest. He could just about make out a clearing through his hazy vision, staring about for whatever did this, or why he was seemingly in the middle of nowhere. His eyes landed on the offending item in his mouth and wrenched it out, the horrid flavours of soil and rot causing him to heave more violently. It wasn't just one, but an entire cluster of mushrooms protruding from his mouth. The wreching didn't stop, as he bent forward, spitting up decomposed leaves and mushroom ends, even a sprouting dandelion seed. He gawked at them in his hands once he'd got everything out, focussing his eyes on them with bewildered disgust for a while, before the cold air started to burn in his rasping lungs. 

The chill was really starting to get to him now. The day was so overcast, he didn't even have the sun to tell the time. Or even the year. As his vision cleared up, he looked down at himself. He was sitting in a weird, bath-tub shaped pile of rocks, which had been stacked around him like a cairn with the top missing, or like he was a particularly big log of firewood which the campfire had been extended to accommodate. There was moss growing in between the rocks. Jaskier prodded at it, expecting it to have been put in the cracks as... insulation? But there was already some between his fingers, a little spreading underneath his fingernails... Maybe he disturbed it while he'd been thrashing around? He was far too cold to thrash around now. He tried rubbing the moss off onto his clothes, before realising that there was no point, they were pretty much a carpet of green. He was wearing basically a replica of the forest floor. Little daisies were even popping up from his chemise, wildflowers growing snug around his pantaloons. There were lots of faded patches in his doublet, and one big red mushroom growing out of what was left of one of his shoes, which had seemingly disintegrated. 

The howls of fear and confusion scared away a whole murder of crows nearby as wild explanations flew through his head. He looked like the forest had swallowed him up, like he'd been buried and become new life for greedy toadstools and fat worms. His fingers were mottled with cold, but at least looked alive. He hadn't regained feeling in his legs yet, and he wasn't expecting to either, judging by their deathly blue colour he could see through the numerous holes littered through his clothes. It was as though a human corpse had been put to work full-time as a forest cottage's thatched roof. The renewed panic made him jolt to his feet, amazingly. As soon as he did, it felt like a hot fist to the stomach. The warmth was nice, but the hit was strong. He buckled over headfirst, landing face-first just beyond the feet of the cairn.

He took a while to get his strength up, laying scrunched next to the cairn for maybe minutes, maybe hours, he didn't care. He wreched again, this time bringing up nothing, and then the hunger hit him. His entire ribcage burned, is spine ached, like he was all being pulled in to a single corset and his stomach was devouring him whole. He had to get up. He had to eat. He let himself dream momentarily of an inn, with a warm fire and villagers who didn't recognise him (he wasn't exactly up to performing- he'd never felt like less of a songbird in his life), of hot mead and soft blankets. He snapped back to the present with the first raindrops as the sky opened its curtains to wake him up with a distant rumble of thunder like a breakfast in bed. He obeyed, his shaking arms hauling his weight up. Although he had barely any strength in his arms, he could tell he was much lighter than he used to be, or than he was supposed to be, but he got himself into a kneeling position nonetheless.

Right, now the hard part. One leg rose, good. That was progress. He took the remained of shoe off the other, planted it into the earth, and pushed. His head reeled as he got upright, gasping for air as the pain washed in. Oh lord, why was he so thirsty? Melitele, it was like he hadn't had a drop in years. He opened his maw to the rain, head still spinning, dark spots starting to cloud his vision, wondering where the hell he was going to go, when-

"Jaskier?!"

He would've loved to have seen who'd said that, if it hadn't have gotten so dark all of a sudden.

"I've got you, I've got you-"

The warm hands were nice. They weren't his own, but he couldn't use his. In fact-


End file.
